Why yes, I am evil. So good of you to notice. Anyway. Still not mine, and I'm still sad. Sniff. But anyway. On with the tale, and yes... slash and angsty goodness ahead. And pain. 'Cause what is drama without a little blood? Oh. And thanks to my first reviewer, you are loverly coffeebean!
To say Draco had been surprised at Harry's little manuever with the tree branch would be an understatement. The Gryffindor fought dirty! Who would've thought? Sputtering, he spit out leaves and curses, clearing his gaze just in time to see the smaller boy dart into the trees. He followed, of course, casting stunners and leg-lockers as quickly as he could, pleased beyond measure when one finally caught the fleet-footed golden boy in the back.
Pleasure quickly turned to horror as Draco watched the boy plummet forward and then come to an abrupt halt, hanging sickeningly from the branch that had impaled his shoulder. The wood protruded from Harry's back, slick with rainwater and blood. The younger wizard's head lolled to one side, face greyish-white beneath his tan.
"Oh, Merlin..." breathed a very shocked Draco, trembling hands moving to... to what? Should he pull the other boy down? He couldn't leave him there, the blood was probably going to attract all sorts of...things.
Gritting his teeth, the tall Slytherin braced himself and tugged the other boy free, nearly collapsing under the unexpected dead weight. Harry didn't make a sound as the branch slid free of his flesh, not so much as a whimper as fresh blood seeped out to stain robes and skin.
"Ennervate," grunted Draco, tightening his grasp upon the slighter boy's frame as Harry sprang reluctantly into consciousness once again.
"Potter, stop squirming. You're just going to make it worse," muttered Draco, too busy to contemplate why he was trying to comfort his opponent.
"M-Malfoy?" Harry struggled upright, trying in vain to put some distance between him and his would-be captor. His legs refused to hold him up though, and he wobbled to an ungainly sort of crouch, head bowed, damp raven locks straggling into eyes glazed in pain. Draco pursed his lips, looking over his wounded classmate with a mixture of concern and irritation. Making an abrupt decision, he bent and swung one of Harry's thin arms over his shoulders, levering the slighter boy upright.
"We've got to move, Potter. Your blood is going to attract something nasty in a minute, and I'd rather not be here," muttered in the injured wizard's ear as he took a stumbling step forward, trying to accustom himself to the added weight. Harry was little help, too pale and trembling... shock, thought Draco with a mental groan.
He would just have to find a place to hide for the moment, to rest until Harry was well enough to make it out of the Forest. Neither of them would make it very far like this, and Draco wasn't about to get himself killed trying to carry Potter, of all people. So he resolutely tightened his grasp upon the smaller boy and struggled forward, trying to keep his wand at the ready.
For his part, Harry was doing his level best not to just give into the darkness threatening to overwhelm him again. His wounded shoulder was throbbing, a white-heat that radiated pain outward to lance down his arm and up his neck at the same time. It left him breathless, all at once too hot and too cold beneath the oppressive weight of wet robes.
"Malfoy... we have to stop," he panted, trying to draw the other boy to a halt. It was like trying to stop a runaway bus, the other's slight figure belaying a wiry sort of strength. Harry stumbled, and bit back a gasp as his classmate merely tightened his grasp and pulled him along.
"Don't whine, Potter. We have to... ah. There's a cave ahead, I think. We can rest there for the night," came Malfoy's clipped tones, the tiniest hint of uncertainty lingering beneath the normally smooth tenor.
"A cave? You just want to waltz into a cave in the middle of the bloody Forest? Merlin, what if there's something in there? You're going to get us killed, Malfoy," Harry tried once again to dig his heels in and stop the other boy, but found himself jerked off of his feet instead, pale eyes suddenly inches from his own.
"Potter. Shut. Up. I'm not daft- I'll go check the cave. You stay right here," he stated firmly, more or less dropping Harry against the slender trunk of a tree. He seemed to be considering something... but shook his head, water glistening in the fine blond strands. Dazed and breathless, Harry rested against the tree, watching the platinum beacon that was Malfoy's head disappear into the gloom. Distantly, he knew he should try to run now... to escape this situation. But he was wounded, wandless, and lost- and altogether, those factors made any ideas at running off into the Forest not only improbable, but laughable.
No time to get hysterical, Harry...he chided himself, struggling to stay awake and wary of whatever might come lurching out of the shadows. But as Malfoy failed to reappear, worry began to prickle at him, raising the hairs on the back of his neck. Gritting his teeth, he struggled upright, using the tree to keep himself from pitching face-first into the mud.
"Malfoy?"
Silence, and it was eerie. Harry set his jaw, teeth clenched against the insistent throbbing of his shoulder, and shuffled forward, having to catch himself against a tree every so often. He could see the cave now, its depths impenetrable from his current distance.
"Malfoy?"
He hazarded again, and was once again greeted with silence. Taking a deep breath, he bent and picked up a relatively stout stick, clutching it in the hand that wasn't nerveless with pain. Holding the make-shift weapon at the ready, Harry resumed his slow trek to the cave and allowed its entrance to swallow him.